


messy chocolate frosting

by ImBadWithWords



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday, Fluff, Gen, Surprises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:09:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7731610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImBadWithWords/pseuds/ImBadWithWords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Swing by the Tower after work, I’ve got some gear for you</i>, the text reads. The phone buzzes again a second later. <i>Happy b-day, squirt :)</i>. Peter smirks and stuffs it into his bag before his boss notices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	messy chocolate frosting

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so Peter has no officially confirmed birthday, but his very first comics appearance was on August 10th in 1962. A lot of people (myself included) like to think of this as his birthday. And so MCU Peter would be turning 16 today. Ideally, this is how his day goes.

Peter wonders if he should feel older. Stronger. Maybe taller. But all he feels is late.

“May! I’m going now, I’ll see you later! Love you!” he calls back into their tiny apartment.

“Peter, wait!” She bustles out of her room. May smiles and squeezes his shoulder as she kisses his cheek. “Happy birthday, tough guy. Don’t you even think about being late for dinner tonight.”

“I won’t, I won’t,” he promises, returning the quick peck on the cheek. “But I’m really gonna be late, so I gotta get going.”

“Alright, sweetheart.” She waves him out the door. “Love you. Have a good day at work.”

“Love you too!”

 

____________

 

No one says anything at the Bugle. Peter doubts anyone even knows. It’s an ordinary day right up until he phone buzzes while he’s updating the website and he sneaks a glance to see a text from Tony.

_Swing by the Tower after work, I’ve got some gear for you,_ it reads. The phone buzzes again a second later. _Happy b-day, squirt :)._ Peter smirks and stuffs it into his bag before his boss notices.

 

____________

 

He drops down onto the quinjet launchpad in his full Spidey suit. Peter leaves the mask on, aware that the other Avengers are likely home. He’d become comfortable around them in the past few months, willing to talk about school and the Bugle and even his aunt, but his identity had remained between him and Tony. Maybe someday, but not just yet.

He walks across the landing toward the common room, warm summer air wrapping around his frame like a blanket. Before he can even go inside, he’s met by a grinning billionaire.

“Hey, kiddo! Happy sixteenth.” Tony punches him lightly in the shoulder. Peter punches him back, grinning.

“Hi, Tony! You said you—“ Tony takes him by the shoulders. “—okay, and you’re dragging me inside, here we go, this is always fun,” Peter rambles as he’s steered through the open entryway. 

_“Surprise!”_

Peter gapes at the group of heroes suddenly crowding around him. Wanda pulls him into a hug and Bucky slaps him on the back. Nat’s, Sam’s and Vision’s _“Happy birthdays”_ overlap, their smiling faces filling his view. Clint sneaks up behind him and secures a birthday hat to his head. Peter is too stunned to take it off.

He takes a step back and finds Steve standing next to him, his hand extended.

“Happy birthday, son,” he says. Peter shakes his hand.

“Uh, thanks, wow, um. I—“ He looks around the room. “I was not expecting this.”

A voice starts to sing.

“ _Happy birthday to you…”_ Peter turns around to see Wanda and Sam holding a homemade cake covered in messy chocolate frosting. Wanda is singingly softly, her eyes fond. The others join in as the lights dim, the glow of the candles washing across their faces. Oh boy. He can see where this is going.

_“Happy birthday to you…”_ Heat rushes to his cheeks and he ducks his head even though no one can see him blush. He wonders if melting into the floor is a viable option.

_“Happy birthday, dear Spidey…”_ Clint and Tony are horribly off key and Rhodey is struggling to keep his composure. Peter is embarrassed and awkward, uncomfortable with the sudden attention, but everyone’s smiling and laughing and he can’t help the bloom of warmth in his chest.

_“Happy birthday to you!”_

Peter lifts his mask to his nose and blows out the candles. Everyone cheers, their voices washing over him like a wave of warm water. He laughs along with them.

Sam sets the cake on the coffee table and goes into the kitchen to retrieve a knife. Wanda pulls Peter down onto the couch beside her while Tony settles on the armrest. Natasha produces paper plates, handing one out to everybody. Bruce tries to decline, saying he’s not having cake, but Nat narrows her eyes and he takes the plate with an exasperated grin.

The cake isn’t big, especially when faced with nine Avengers (and Peter), but Sam still cuts Peter a huge piece and drops it onto his plate before serving the others. Steve hands him a fork. In the instant after taking the first bite, Peter decides that if marrying baked goods was legal he would have proposed on the spot.

“Oh my _god,_ ” he moans around a mouthful of cake. “I don’t know what my taste buds did to deserve this, but when I find out, I’m doing it every day.”

“It’s apparently a recipe of Nat’s,” Sam says. “She refuses to tell where she got it from and took the recipe card back the second we had the batter in the oven.” Wanda nods.

“She’s hoarding it, so enjoy this while it lasts.” She nudges Peter with her elbow and he grins.

“Aw, Nat,” he says, turning to her, “Why you gotta be like that? This is actual heaven on earth. This needs to be shared!”

“Not happening,” Nat says, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. “This is special occasion cake. You’ll thank me later.”

Peter’s mind is still stuck on his birthday being a “special occasion” when Tony huffs and gets to his feet.

“I can’t wait any longer!” he exclaims. “C’mon, kid, I’ve got something to show you.” Peter narrows his eyes. He holds the cake closer to his chest.

“I’m taking this with me,” he says.

“Whatever, whatever, just stand up, let’s go.” Tony gestures for Peter to hurry up. With a sigh, he stands. Tony moves behind him and covers Peter’s eyes with his hands.

“Um. What are you doing?”

“Covering your eyes.”

“Yes, I got that part. What I want to know is _why?”_

“So you can’t see. Now close your eyes, no cheating.”

Peter sighs and lets Tony steer him across the room. He hears the elevator doors open with a _ding_ and Tony urges him inside.

“Why are we going in the elevator?” Feet shuffle as everyone else piles inside. Someone—Clint, probably—flicks Peter’s party hat.

“Because I can’t bring your present up here,” Tony answers. Peter freezes.

_“Present?”_

“Well, duh.” The eyeroll is audible in his voice. Wanda chuckles just behind him and gives Peter’s hand a squeeze. His stomach sinks.

“It’s not a car, right, Tony?” His voice is pleading. “I very specifically told you to please not get me a car. I can’t accept any big, flashy gifts— _like a car—_ because it’s too suspicious and yes, I know I’m old enough to drive now, but I don’t have a license, or even a learner’s permit, and honestly do you really want to see me behind the wheel—“

“Relax,” Tony interrupts. “Just trust me. You’ll like it, I swear.” They ride in silence a moment.

“Betcha it’s a car,” Bucky whispers to Peter’s right.

“Oh, definitely,” Steve agrees. “A bright red one, probably. With flames painted on the sides. Or maybe a portrait of Iron Man. Oh!” Steve gasps like he just had an idea. “I bet you there’s a picture of Spider-Man airbrushed on the hood.” Somewhere on the other side of the elevator, Sam snickers.

“You guys are the worst,” Peter says through his teeth. That earns a full laugh.

The elevator doors _ding_ open. Tony removes his hands.

“Okay,” he says, “Open your eyes.”

Peter does as told and blinks at the sudden light. When his eyes adjust, his heart flutters at the sight of the room.

“What’s—What’s this?” Peter breaths. His heart hammers in his chest. 

“It’s yours,” says Tony. “All of it.”

He takes a tentative step forward out of the elevator. No one else moves. Peter runs his eyes over the sleek, state-of-the-art lab laid out in front of him.

There are work desks forming a U to his left, a huge plush office chair tucked into the middle one. Just beyond that there’s a wall of parts drawers, completely full, knowing Tony. A large chemicals cabinet is to the right. Neat rows of labeled bottles are visible through the glass doors. Peter takes another step forward, just close enough to read them. Everything he needs is there to produce and even improve his web fluid. His gaze travels farther and he sees spare Spidey suits and extra fabric left folded on a table. In the center of the room is an island of drawers. He drifts closer, pulling one open to find countless tools inside. He pulls open another, then another. There’s everything from pliers and wrenches to pipets and beakers. He runs his gloved fingers over the island surface.

“I—I—“ Peter’s words are stuck in his throat. Bucky breaks the silence for him.

“What’s in the back room?”

Peter follows his pointed finger and sees a door sat beside a small sitting area made up of a couch, a rug, a beanbag, and a mini fridge.

“It’s a dark room,” Tony says. “For developing pictures.”

All the air has long since left Peter’s lungs. He stands in the center of the room, turning in slow circles, trying to internalize that it’s _real._ He tries to stammer out a coherent sentence, something to tell Tony how completely floored and grateful he is, but maybe he’s in shock.

“Kid’s speechless.” Sam chuckles. “Congratulations, Tony, you’ve done the impossible.”

“I never settle for anything less.” The smile on Tony’s face sends Peter crashing into him with a hug.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou _thankyou!”_ Tony pats him on the head.

“Happy birthday, squirt. You’ve earned it.”

 

____________

 

Peter later arrives home—on time—happiness and excitement still buzzing through his limbs. He’s floaty, but in a good way, and he greets Aunt May with a hug when he walks through the door.

“I’m guessing you had a good day,” she laughs. He grins back and kisses her on the cheek.

“A great day,” he says.

“Well you’ll have to tell me all about it over dinner.” She walks back to the oven and stoops to pull out a dish. The mouthwatering scent of chicken parmigiana wafts through the apartment. Peter bounces over to the kitchen cabinets and starts pulling out plates.

“Did you make the cheesy garlic bread?” he asks hopefully.

“What kind of birthday dinner would it be without garlic bread?”

He sets their tiny kitchen table with their chipped, mismatched plates and cups. Their silverware is scratched and maybe a little bent, but neither had ever cared. 

He goes to put down a third plate, out of habit, and he stops. Peter stares at the empty chair, it’s sudden presence a weight on his mind. He stands there, plate in hand, not moving. May’s hand comes to rest on his back.

“He would have loved teaching you how to drive.” Her voice is soft. Thoughtful. She rubs her hand in small circles. “He was so excited to see you grow up.” Her hand moves up to his shoulder and he covers it with his own.

“It’s the first birthday without him,” he says. “It doesn’t really feel right, y’know?”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” She tilts her face to look at him. “He would be so proud of you.”

Peter smiles. He presses his cheek against her hand. “Thanks, May.”

Dinner is quiet, but comfortable. Peter tells her about the lab space Tony had given him—leaving out the part about the Avengers singing him happy birthday—and her whole face lights up. She gushes about how wonderful an opportunity the September grant was, how hard Peter had worked to earn it. She decides she’s going to send Tony a basket of muffins as a thank you and gets excited when Peter offers to help. He can think of no better way to end the day.

Peter insists on washing up when they’ve finished. May scoops big bowls of ice cream and drowns them in chocolate syrup. She sets them on the table before disappearing into her room, only to return a minute later with a package wrapped in brightly colored paper. When Peter looks closer, he sees the tiny rocket ship designs and smiles.

“You didn’t need to get me anything, Aunt May,” he says. She smiles instead of answering and pushes it into his hands.

He tears off the paper carefully. Underneath, he can just glimpse a wooden frame before he rips the wrapping away.

It’s a photo. Peter recognizes a younger version of himself walking hand in hand with Uncle Ben at the zoo. They’re facing away from the camera, the picture taken from behind. Ben’s head is thrown back in laughter and little Peter is grinning up at him wildly. He runs a finger over Ben’s face, taking in his happy, carefree expression.

He turns to May. His eyes are burning just the tiniest bit and he offers a grin.

“I love it,” he says. “Thank you.”

He walks over and envelops May in a solid hug. He buries his face into her shoulder and can feel her do the same.

“I love you, May.”

“I love you too, Peter. Happy birthday.”


End file.
